Wake up with this girl’s name in your head. Except: was it two ‘L’s or one? Remember the last time you saw her — it was 1984 and she was wearing her Olivia Newton John headband and a pair of jazz shoes. Also: legwarmers were a distinct possibility.
Remember that she was four years older than you and already living in a college dorm. Remember that she was a film student and remember how jealous you used to get at the notion that before you met him, this musician guy you were totally in love with used to crash in this girl’s dorm room following Classic Film Night in the Student Activity Center.
Meanwhile all you could offer your musician boyfriend at the time were after school Brady Bunch reruns on Channel 48. While your Dollhouse family looked on from their Center Hall Colonial.
Remember that this girl — this girl whose name had two ‘L’s, maybe one — used British words for everything even though she only lived in London for like six months. “Phone me at my flat,” she once whispered to your musician boyfriend — your musician boyfriend — while you stood close by in the middle of the rock club that only allowed your underage ass through the door because you were like 5-foot-a-million, and obviously only drinking-age people were that tall.
“Why do you still talk to her?” you remember asking your musician boyfriend in his Mercury Capri later that night. “Because she’s scheduled for major surgery,” he said, looking all mournful.
“She’s having her wisdom teeth removed,” you cluck, watching him visibly hunker down inside his Member’s Only jacket.
Remember that this girl always carried her camera, and remember that in her world she didn’t take pictures she Made Photographs. Remember that it was this girl’s camera that allowed her entrée backstage to meet your boyfriend in the first place. And even though you never saw any of those band photos, remember that you still have the following photo she took of you and your boyfriend in the aisle of a music store:
So you wake up and Google this girl using her maiden name because you’re pretty sure she’s the type of girl to pursue cinematic success using her maiden name while you’re clearly the type of girl to pursue the skid marks on your husband’s underwear using your married name.
Except you can’t find any trace of her on Google! You hold a small party inside your mouth until you realize you misspelled her name and in fact it is
only one L.
And there she is. She’s the one writing articles about film scripts, the one hawking her Independent Film in the Yahoo Movie Group Forum. The one who ends all her comments with, “Cheerio!” You take small solace in the fact that she is still Ha! four years older than you.